“Yes, I have met him, but I only this moment suspected it!”
“Have you known him long?”
“Less than a year.”
“That settles it!” she cried, leaping to her feet excitedly. “If Dick Morton has known you for a year he won’t want me and I can marry Tom! Goody, goody, goody!”
“Stuff and nonsense!” I said quickly. “Richard Morton is only a very dear friend.”
“Stuff and nonsense yourself! No man with an eye in his head could be a dear friend to you! And Dick Morton is the hero sort who doesn’t care for Dottie Dimples, but worships Vashtis and Zuleika-Zenobias. Have you any money?”
“Oh, dear! I might have known you wouldn’t have, with that hair and those eyes. Never mind! I’m certain that Dick would rather have a pauper goddess than a rich little earthworm.”
“You mustn’t talk any more about the matter,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster in the midst of her laughter-provoking nonsense, which made the most sacred subjects seem a natural matter of discussion. “I know through Mrs. Taunton all about the circumstances—your father’s wishes and his letter to Richard. If you can possibly love him you must accept him, advance his fortunes, and do your duty by your father. I am determined to be as noble as Laura Simonds in this matter and I refuse to be a stumbling-block!”
The girl fell limply into the lounging-chair.